Nov 07

Trying a new thing here, if Mrs. Birdman complies

I want to have an argument with the old lady on the blog, but I’m not sure if she will go for it. I think that calling her the old lady will probably fire her up enough to do it right.

My thing is this, I like to have adventures, and she thinks that adventures mean brushes with death. I say that an adventure can just be going for a walk in a park that you’ve never been to.

Mrs. B:  Well that would be true if you were like an average fellow, who walked through the park at high noon, perhaps with a lovely non-shedding dog along with you.  However, you are more the ‘adventure seeking’ type, who sneaks into the park, ninja-style, at 11pm all dressed in black, and seems surprised when you get jumped by a gang of pimply-faced teens looking for their next bottle of Sailor Jerry.  I’m just saying that trouble follows you because you call it up and invite it out for the ‘adventure’.

Birdman: That is mostly untrue. Anytime I put on my ninja gear, there is a job to do, and I do my job well. The gang of teens deserved what they got. The point I was making was that I hoped for some adventures this winter, and you jumped to the conclusion that I might harm myself. I will be completely safe while working this winter, they have rules to ensure this.

May I remind you of the stories you have told me, of going through the ice in minus three hundred degree weather?  (Maybe I am exaggerating on the exact temperature, but it was cold).  Or how about the time when you laid on the ice under the truck trying to fix some stupid thing while your core temperature dropped lower and lower?  Because apparently you were not clever enough to realize that laying on ice is a bad idea when it’s colder than a witches tit out?  Also, you have regaled me with stories of your near death experiences.  I say ‘experiences’ rather than experience because there are SO MANY.  You are not a man who pays attention to detail.  You forget shit.  Is it so hard to believe that I might not trust you when you say: “Trust me, Baby…it’s totally safe!”  *angry face*

Holy shit, you really remember a lot of things. When I was laying on the ice, it wasn’t an adventure, I needed to get the truck moving again. It was1:30 AM, -40C and the airlines had broke. I wasn’t out there thinking it was a fun time and all the cool things happen to me. I’m sure glad I didn’t tell you about the time… never mind. Anyhow, those are just things that happened, and we don’t work alone in the bush anymore. There is a buddy system, and we have to check in every hour. Totally safe, trust me. By the way, you looked really pretty today in your ponytail.

Thank you for mentioning the pony tail.  🙂  I know you are only trying to soften my VERY LEGITIMATE CONCERNS with your cunning flattery.  Did you like the vest I wore too?  I wasn’t sure.  Maybe it was a bit too puffy…?

That wasn’t flattery, baby. You know I love your hair back, and you looked really urban chic in your puffy vest. I was worried that your torso was going to overheat as your arms froze, but you seem to be okay now. I’ll never understand vests, because they don’t make any sense to me. Is it okay if I go on some safe adventures that don’t seem life threatening? I promise that if I think something is going to kill me, I’ll stop immediately.

Okay Baby.  I love you.  *big stupid smile* But please do exercise all caution and come back to me as soon as you can.  I will miss you more than you can imagine.  xo 🙂

Oh, I can imagine it. I think you know that. Is this the end of the debate? Shit, I need a little over 300 more words. Okay, I guess I can tell you that I’m growing my hair into a ponytail and calling myself Dack when I get back in the spring. I will probably end up addicted to coke as well.

We will talk.  Do not in anyway consider the preceding 3 words as an endorsement of the above. 

I am agreeing that the debate is done.  I was victorious in asserting that you have a terrible habit of almost dying, and you are victorious in getting me to concede that you probably won’t kick it this winter.  I love you baby, and although I wish you weren’t going, I am fully prepared to spend all of the money you are bringing home.   Now give Mama some sugar…it’s cocoon time.  *wink*

Okay, I guess I am going to fuck these fine people out of 150 words or so, but they were probably going to be jibberish anyhow, and cocooning trumps all.

Hey hey mama said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove,

Birdman

Oct 31

My ultimate dream prize

As some of you may know, I received an invite to the 107.9 The Breeze $10000 dream prize party. I had a chance to win my choice of six different prizes worth ten grand. I didn’t win the prize, but I never really figured I would. I was just excited to meet the morning show crew that I listen to when I start my daily routine. Sure ten thousand bucks worth of groceries would have been a sweet bonus, but it was just nice to know I was going to put some faces to the names that I hear every day.

I listen to The Breeze every morning when I’m in the area (you can listen online), and I really like the Big Breakfast, featuring Jay Sharp, Joe Snider, Inga Belge and Megan Murphy. The personalities of the gang are very complimentary, and they completely make up for the repetitive music playlist. You know I love Rag Mama Rag a lot, but The Band has so many more, deserving songs that I feel could be played as well, and as much as I like Bruce Cockburn, I don’t feel we need to hear Tokyo, or Coldest Night of the Year, every single day. I have never even seen them in someone’s playlist or CD library before, so why do they garner so much air play. Anyhow, enough of my griping, I have been listening to them for a year and a half now, since I moved back from the west, and I have found them to be very interesting people from hearing their stories and on-air lives. That is why I was so excited to score this invitation to the party.

When I went in to pick up my invite from the beautiful, funny and, I assume, brilliant Kristy, I was pleasantly surprised when the one and only Jay Sharp walked out into the reception area. It was like meeting royalty for me, and I felt like I should give him some money or some baubles or something. I had received countless hours of free entertainment from this man, and I felt I should repay him in some small way. Then the thought came to me. Maybe I should hug him and cup his buttocks with my strong hands. I am embarrassed to say that I got too nervous and just stammered something that sounded like a leopard killing an antelope. There was one of my people to meet crossed off the list, now only three more to go.

How sexy is this man?

Fast forward to Sunday morning. We piled into the van, with three quarters of us nursing sore heads and bellies, and headed to Kawartha Downs for the party. I gotta say, calling it a party was a little misleading. We showed up with a cooler full of beer and rum, an ounce of weed, a hookah pipe, and two strippers that we picked up in Belleville. The security guards stopped us at the entrance, and promptly called the cops. (Apparently, the topless law in Ontario only applies to public property.) I voiced my opinion on the subject, and explained that I had an invitation, which I quickly produced for them. By now Joey had given the pot to the strippers, Chastity and Destiny were their names, and had set the pipe on the ground. You see, Joey’s no dummy when it comes to dodging the po po, so when the law came screaming up, Destiny got pinched, and they had an outstanding warrant for Chastity. Turns out they were lying to us, and their real names were Judy and Ted, so I didn’t feel too bad when they got hauled off, and I was thankful their shorts had stayed on. We put the cooler back in the van and went inside, only to find out that there wasn’t much happening in the way of a party. Joey pulled a couple of T-Dolls out of his pocket and handed me one. I crushed it up on the picnic table and snorted it, while a couple of ladies checked out the camper trailer right beside me.

Okay, maybe it was more like this: Joey, Mrs.Birdman, Khrissy and I waited in line for half an hour, went in to meet my idols, saw that they were busy and then went outside to let the sun hurt my brain. I got to meet Rob “The Rocket” Mitchell, and then we went back inside where the folks were setting things up, so I went over and introduced myself to Joseph P Snider. I was kind of hoping for a deeper voiced, Les Nessman, but was presented with one hell of a strapping fellow. The sheer power of the man’s handshake was emotionally crippling, and his rapt gaze pierced my very being to the core. I had to pull myself away as I felt him extracting tiny, but very important bits of my tender soul. I then turned my attention to the beautiful, angelic face of Megan P Murphy, and found my faith in humanity slowly being restored. I envisioned African children, having their bellies filled by her aura, and dictators freeing their citizens from tyranny. I wanted to hug her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but alas, Mrs. Birdman beat me to it. I was saddened to hear that Inga B. was not attending the event, because I wanted to commend her for her bravery, working in such close quarters with these formidable specimens of humankind. I also got to see Jay Sharp again, but not for very long. I felt him making me wish I was gay, and then he broke the connection to get something ready with the production.

Ethereal beauty, personified

Don't look into his eyes

I did not win the $10000 dream prize, but I walked away with a new respect for people who work in radio. I also got to see some wonderful sets of breasts, hold hands with the love of my life, meet some of my morning heroes and see two people win a prize that made them so happy that I didn’t care whether I won a million dollars. I left that place with a huge smile on my hungover face, a beautiful woman on my arm, and a mission to try for a job at The Breeze when I get back in the spring.

I hate graveyards and old pawn shops,

Birdman

P.S. Jay Sharp smelled like charisma and Puritan Irish Stew, two of my favorite things.

Oct 30

Of meetings, good food and better friends

Well, I’m not in fine writing form this morning, but I thought I would let you all know that if Gadget says he needs to see you in his office downstairs for a meeting, DO NOT GO. It’s a trap, and not a very clever one either. I’m a little fuzzy on details, but I think I was molested by Cleopatra, a breathalyzer, Inspector Gadget and Penny. I ate a lot of delicious treats, and I think we finally got rid of all traces of Sour Puss and Tequila Rose from the basement office.We also want to thank Lucille Ball and the surgical team for making sure we were transported safely to and from the party. You guys rock our world.

I hope that the freaky McDonald’s clown is able to stop by the house and check in on Mrs. Birdman while I’m gone, because she might need someone to do some odd jobs around the house, and clowns seem to be pretty handy with that type of thing. I am glad to have so many good friends and neighbours that take the time to invite us to events and make us feel welcome wherever we go. We truly know how lucky we are, because it’s pretty rare to enjoy everybody’s company when you go out. Most parties you go to, there’s always the assholes that everyone sidesteps and avoid like the plague. I have actually locked myself in the can with a six pack before, because it’s more exciting than talking to some people, but not with the friends we have. I do believe every last one of them is interesting and funny, but I’m also drunk when I’m around these magnificent folk, so take that with a grain of salt.

Hey, remember that time I did a Jello shot with the gummi worm and almost choked to death? That was last night. The sad thing is, I forgot about it, and twenty minutes later was choking down another one. Jesus, I’m damn near forty years old, why the hell am I acting like a teenager? I thought I had grown out of the shooter phase many moons ago. I guess it’s the crowd, because when I get around this bunch, I feel like partying like a not very well hung porn star. It’s pretty nice to be around people that make you feel at ease enough to get that hammered, you just don’t have to worry about shit.

So thank you all, and I say that from my old lady, my best man, and my own self, for the fun-filled night and for the friendship. It’s never taken for granted. We have to go now. I got an invite to the $10000 dream prize party, and I need to wash the blood off my hands.

You can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd,

Birdman

Oct 28

Friends

I was thinking about that today while reading a message from an American friend that I’ve never met. Weird huh? I’ve never met Seth, but I still consider him my friend. I know we’ve talked a lot and bugged each other about who lives in the better country (it’s me), but I’ve never shook his hand, or sat down to a fridge full of beer with him. I’m going to invite him to my wedding, if he’s able to come, but then I wonder if that’s crazy too. I guess we’ll find out next summer, along with Dennis and Scott. I met both of them at work and I’ve gotten so that I go to the board in the morning to see if I get to go there for a pickup. I don’t know if it’s a familiarity thing, but I’ve grown to like the assholes. Okay, I guess I like them because they’re good guys, and maybe just a little bit sexy.

I then started thinking about a lot of my friends, and how we became friends. There are some crazy stories, with fighting, booze, and other illicit substances at the forefront of most of them. There are also a lot of stories that I don’t remember the beginning to. I wonder if any of you remember how you met me, or did I just show up and not leave? Some of my really good friends have no recollection of how we met, but some remember every detail like it was yesterday.

I remember how I met my best man, and best male friend, Joe. He was sitting in my seat on the school bus, because I was a hoodlum and had to sit directly behind the bus driver. It was his first day of school after moving here from Florida and it was grade seven. It turned out that he didn’t know anyone, and I lived close, so we became friends. We’ve done a pile of crazy shit together, and if the fun police would leave us to our ways, we’d probably do a pile more. We drifted apart while he was living out west, and then while I was, but there was never a time that I wouldn’t have done what I could to help him out, and I guess he probably feels the same way, but I’ve never asked.

He’s also the guy I’d trust the most with my best interests. I know that’s a strange term, but how else do you sum up: car, pets, plans of evil, money, guns, horses, dead hookers, rides to the airport, fake passports, family and my life into two words? I don’t think I can trust him, I know I can. Over the past twenty eight years he’s proven he is loyal friend, not only to me, but to others as well. I’m still trying to get info out of him from shit that happened in high school.

He has a true heart and a mischievous soul, so it’s only right that we ended up as homies. It’s also pretty handy that my sweet baby likes him too, but I guess that we have very similar personalities, so we should like the same type of people. I know that I like her friends. The ones I’ve met so far, anyways.

Back to my pal Joey now. He also loves his mom, but why wouldn’t he? She’s one of the sweetest and funniest ladies I know, and believe you me, I know a few. He has two, slightly hyper, but extremely sweet dogs, that he takes very good care of. He plans his days and evenings around them, and that’s how it should be.

One story that I do remember is when Joe, Steve and I were out in Cold Beer. Steve is Joe’s cousin, another friend that you’ll hear about later, and Cold Beer was a rowboat that someone else owned. The three of us grabbed a bunch of bottle rockets, a steel tube, a lighter and a bailing bucket, and set off to sea. We thought we’d try fishing with the bottle rockets, because they would shoot under water and explode like a mini depth charge. We got out onto the lake, and while Steve was getting the tube ready, I was getting ready to stuff a rocket in and light it. I could hear a hissing, and giggling, and when I turned to look, Joey had lit the whole bouquet of fireworks that I was holding in my hand. I threw them up in the air, not thinking that now they can fly around all willy-nilly, and they did. I started to freak out and tried to fight Joey, Steve was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and Joe was laughing his ass off, yelling for me to “Chill, just chill”. Being from the sticks, I hadn’t heard the term “chill” before and started yelling back, “What the fuck does chill mean? We had a grand laugh, and no one lost the meat off their hand. Yet.

I guess I will sum it all up by saying that I have some really amazing friends, that I’ve accumulated over the course of my life, but Joey, you are the one I come to when the chips are down and I need to vent. You never judge me, and you always know the ways to cheer me up. (Yes one does involve guzzling a gallon of milk.) I will be proud to have you stand next to me as I get married to my best friend, and even prouder to have you choose the strippers and blow for the bachelor party. We all know that you have excellent taste in stripper flesh, and you drive a hard bargain. Cheers to you buddy, I am forever at your service.

Now back to Mrs. Birdman’s friends. Some were mutual friends, but many I hadn’t met yet. I honestly can’t think of one that I don’t like, and there are some that I just adore. There’s one lovely lady in particular, that works at a place where we pick up, and I now go in and visit whenever I’m there. Well, as long as it’s after 9:30. It’s a pretty sweet deal when you can double your friend base and also reconnect with lots of old friends that you hadn’t talked to for years. It’s also nice to have all kinds of sexy ladies stopping by for visits and whatnot. Yeah, I wish whatnot meant threesomes too, but alas, I shall have to keep dreaming. I figure that I’ve been a good person, so karma should take care of the threesome thing later, right? Seriously, before senility sets in would be nice.

Imma get get get get you drunk,

Birdman

 

Oct 26

My other dad

As I write this, the man who raised me as a son since I was eight is on his way to the hospital. He hasn’t been able to swallow food or water for days now, and if something isn’t done soon, it can’t get any better. He doesn’t want us kids there right now, maybe he doesn’t want to inconvenience us, but it’s probably because he doesn’t want us to see what the cancer has reduced him to. I don’t think he understands that we don’t care about that.

You see, he grew up in a time when men were judged by their physical, mental and emotional strength, and you didn’t want anyone to ever see you in a lesser state. I’m so glad I don’t have to follow any of those rules, or I’d be failing miserably as a man. If I can’t go out fast, while stopping a stray bullet from hitting an innocent bystander in a driveby, I want all the people I love to be around me.

Long before the second bout, but after the first. Mom loves cameras

Since he was first diagnosed with esophageal cancer, some ten years ago, he was given months to live. He was pretty down about it, and had kind of lost that fire he had always had. That was until he went to Kingston. While he was at the cancer centre there, he got talking to a lot of survivors, and they all had one thing in common. They were fighters. They weren’t going to let it beat them. They wanted to live, and were going to do what it took to stay above ground. Continue reading